


Do I Wanna Know?

by Missy_dee811



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Artist Steve Rogers, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Memories, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-09 00:58:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5519582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy_dee811/pseuds/Missy_dee811
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony and Pepper go to an art gallery where he meets Steve, whose work is on display. </p><p>The two hit it off quickly, but it's more than it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roachalk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roachalk/gifts).



> I wrote this in response to the following prompt: Alternate version of the above where your soulmate still was an artist of centuries ago but you were there too, and you both were able to meet again in this lifetime. You don’t remember anything but you’d be at the museum, looking at the picture that looks like you with curiosity until your soulmate (who remembers everything) comes by and asks you what you think of the painting.
> 
> The title is the name of a song by the Arctic Monkeys.

“Sir -”

At that moment, the door swung open and a tall, slender, freckled redhead entered. She strode across the dimly lit room. Her heels echoing as they hit the ground. She stood just a few feet away with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Tony, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all afternoon! Why haven’t you returned any of my messages or calls?”

The man in question lifted his soldering mask, setting it down on the workbench beside him. “I’ve been busy Pepper. Also, it’s the first I’m hearing about this. Jarvis…”

The AI interrupted him by saying, “In my defense, sir, I did try to warn you.”

“OK, it doesn’t matter. I had a feeling you’d be down here. Since it seems like you forgot, I’m here to remind you that you have to be at that gallery opening in SoHo in a little over an hour, Tony.”

Tony groaned and set aside the soldering iron he was still holding in his left hand. Pepper smiled softly, “This was your idea. You’ve had this on your calendar for months. It’s not my fault you forgot, Tony. You’d have seen my reminders if you read my emails.”

He walked over and slowly grabbed her wrist, dragging her out of the workshop as he closed the door, pausing only to say, “Don’t miss me too much. I’ll be back soon.”

He turned to face Pepper. “I really hate SoHo. It’s full of hipsters.” She laughed. “Yes, but a promise is a promise.” He groaned again, reluctantly making his way up the stairs toward the bedroom.

Twenty minutes later, he stood in front of the mirror, wiping it clear with his hand. He sighed. He had always had a hard time looking at his reflection. He knew he was attractive, insofar as he was aesthetically appealing: tall, lean but muscular, dark haired, with brilliant blue eyes. He was charismatic too. A younger version of himself had used these attributes to his advantage but those days were behind him. These days, he had little reason to look in a mirror. He picked up his trimmer, which had been charging at the edge of the counter, and started working on his goatee, putting away any self-deprecating thoughts, for the moment, at least.

Minutes later, he met Pepper in the living room. He was wearing dark gray loafers, dark wash jeans, and a navy blue dress shirt. He had on a dark gray vest and a matching tie. Draped across his arm was a thick, black, double-breasted wool coat. She smiled when she saw him. “You clean up nicely.”

“As do you,” he responded. “Were you wearing that this whole time?”

She chuckled softly, “Yes.”

She was wearing a long, belted cable-knit dress the color of champagne with stilettoed pumps to match. The fabric clung to her curves, leaving little to the imagination but much to be desired.

“Do you always go to art galleries looking like this?” He smirked as he said it.

A small smile flashed across Pepper’s lips as she responded. “Do you?”

“Touché, Ms. Potts.” He gestured for her to lead the way. She grabbed her coat from the sofa, buttoning it as she walked.

*~*~*~*~*~

The gallery was filled with art aficionados, socialites, and benefactors. He had known many of these people most of his life. It wasn’t a comforting thought: Tony hated every single one of them.

“Oh, cheer up, Tony. Why don’t you go look at the art?”

They stood at the far end of the room, observing the scene before them. He took another sip of his tonic water and yearned for something stronger. The thought alone pulled him out of the doldrums. He handed Pepper his drink.

“Now that you mention it, there was a portrait I liked.”

She urged him forward, grinning. He glanced back at her as he walked over to the painting in question. She was already deep in conversation with an attractive redhead with almond-shaped green eyes in skintight black jeans. “Not fair,” he muttered to himself, amused. He made a mental note to ask about her later, much later.

“‘Oil on canvas.’”

He looked at the painting again and he felt a wave of déjà vu wash over him. It looked so familiar. There was no way he could’ve been there. The piece was over a hundred years old.

There was something intimate about it: the shadow play, the thick brush strokes; they all gave the impression that the artist knew this man well, intimately so.  _This is how his lover saw him_ , he thought.

The man in question was dark-haired with piercing blue eyes hidden behind thick lashes. He was lying in a post-coitus tangle of silk sheets. The early morning sun illuminating his exposed chest.

He should’ve heard the man approach but he was so engrossed that the stranger took him by surprise. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people.” He turned to face his companion and was shortly thunderstruck.

 _If the man in the painting was handsome, he had nothing on the fine specimen before him_ , thought Tony. He was blond, with pale blue eyes the color of December skies, and broad shoulders. He was wearing a red dress shirt, rolled at the sleeves. His black tie was loose around his neck. His trousers sat low on his hips. He had one hand in his pocket; the other clutched his jacket over his shoulder.  _He ought to have flashing cameras aimed at him_ , thought Tony.

“Do you like what you see?”

It was a loaded question. His eyes darted back and forth between the wall, on which the painting hung, and Tony. Tony felt his cheeks redden. He wasn’t one for blushing. Hell, he’d said worse things with a straight face, but, for whatever reason, the man before him made him feel a flurry of emotions, as if he were a fifteen-year-old boy all over again.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” said Tony, holding out his hand.

“Steve.”

The man - Steve - softly and swiftly grabbed his wrist and pulled him in, leaning into his ear. He whispered, “If you ought to know.”

He smelled of pine trees and freshly fallen snow. Tony was smitten. Rarely, if ever, did he find anyone as intoxicating as he found Steve. It was clear Steve knew the effect he had had on him when he asked, “I’m curious, what do you think of the man?”

Tony considered this for a moment before responding. “He’s loved.” Tony tried to catalog the myriad of emotions that flashes across Steve’s face. Steve eyed him curiously, “Why do you say that?”

“Well, for starters, he’s glowing in the morning light. But mostly, considering this painting is over a century old, it’s a bold statement to make,” responded Tony walking closer. His déjà vu had returned. Steve closed the space between then again, choosing to stand beside him this time.

From this distance, Tony could feel the heat emanating from his body. His mind started to wander. He wanted to wrap himself in those arms, secretly hoping Steve was as strong as he looked. As if reading Tony’s mind, Steve turned to face him. “Do you want to know what it would feel like?”

Tony eyed him questioningly but before he had a chance to say anything, Steve was already leading him into an empty part of the gallery.

He pushed him against the wall, pinning his arms over his head with one hand. His other hand started roaming along the smooth expanse of his torso, undoing the buttons on his vest. Next, he started loosening his tie. Tony threw his head back and groaned when Steve bit down on his neck.

“I’ve waited a long time for this,” said Steve hoarsely. His lips were wet and full. He smiled at Tony and leaned in for a kiss. The second their lips met, a wave of emotions swam through him. _There's something familiar about this_ , thought Tony.

Then, the memories started pouring in.

Steve released his hold and Tony quickly enveloped Steve in a hug, kissing his cheek, and caressing his jaw. “Oh God, Steve, what took you so long?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: chapter 2 is up, as promised.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal goes sour and Anthony goes to the nearest tavern to drown in his sorrows, contemplating what will happen next, whereupon he meets Stephen, an opinionated cartoonist who frequents the pub but never drinks.
> 
> It's more than what it seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, this is the scene Steve paints and questions Tony about at the gallery.

“Give me a glass of the best single-malt whiskey you have and keep ‘em coming,” said the man, taking off his bowler hat, letting his dark hair fall into his eyes, as he walked toward the bar stool. He pulled a few bills from the inside of his traveling coat and placed them on the counter. The bartender wordlessly started preparing his drink, pulling an unopened bottle from the top shelf, and pouring its contents into a glass.

“Bad day,” asked the dark-haired man behind the counter as he placed the chilled spirit in front of his patron.

“The worst,” responded the traveler. He looked across the bar, to where a man was seated at the far end, a pencil in his hand and an opened notebook in front of him. He was tall; his broad shoulders hunched over the pages in front of him. He could easily find employment in this city, which was always looking for strong men to build skyscrapers. He thought to himself, _I design those skyscrapers_. No sooner had he thought it when he remembered his predicament and the reason he had entered the pub, and the smile quickly vanished.

_Stane refused my deal and I refuse to negotiate. I hadn't even wanted his company on our payroll._

He hadn't even called his assistant, Virginia. She would be bereft once she knew. He couldn't say, "Oh Pepper, don't worry," when he, himself, wanted nothing more than to feel the burn of scotch until there was nothing left. So many things were hanging in the balance. _My father will be displeased when I return to New York with bad news. If only I could stay here._

From the man’s vantage point, at the far end of the counter, it wasn’t clear whether or not he was sketching or writing. The man felt this compulsion he couldn't explain. He wanted to get closer to him. The man in the corner must have sensed him looking for, at that very moment, he looked up and their eyes met.

There was something very familiar about those eyes but he couldn't discern anything from them. _Have I met this man before? Does he know me?_

They were a soft blue, unlike his own, which were very bright. The man seemed to be about his age. If he had been drinking, he had finished his drink long ago. He didn’t seem to be with anyone. There were a few other patrons in the tavern playing cards at the table. He turned to the bartender, motioning towards the mysterious gentleman, “What’s he doing here?”

“Ah! Stephen is a regular. He comes by to keep me company mostly. You see, he’s not a drinker. Never orders anything stronger than tonic water. Just likes the atmosphere, finds it easy to concentrate on his work. Finds the music in here relaxing.” The bartender spoke loud enough for the man to overhear. Maybe it was the whiskey, but he didn’t notice when the man sat in the stool next to him.

"I hope Sam isn't spreading rumors about me." He flashed the bartender a smile and then turned to face the traveler. “Seeing as you’re the one who doesn’t belong, what brings you to this fine establishment?”

At that moment, two revelers walked in: a redheaded woman in a long coat and her companion, a man with dark brown hair and a bandaged arm. Sam quickly walked over to the other side of the bar, where the couple stood, leaving the two men alone. 

“Well, I was trying to drown my sorrows but you seem to be able to hold an intelligent conversation, so maybe you’ll entertain me long enough to help me forget just how screwed I am. I’m Anthony, by the way. Pleased to meet you.” Anthony looked up and flashed him a smile. Their eyes locked. Anthony felt a wave of emotions wash over him but couldn’t discern them. The other man looked at him with a guarded expression, “Nice to meet you, Anthony. I’m Stephen.”

The couple in the corner laughed and talked among themselves in hushed voices. From where Anthony and Stephen sat, unperturbed, it was hard for them to make out any identifiable words, though they had long since established they were muttering in Russian. 

"What is it that you do, exactly? I saw you scribbling something into the moleskin notebook." Anthony leaned over the counter, elbows on the wood and his head in his palm, his face turned to Stephen, the low light in the tavern making his eyes twinkle. The motion was swift. No one else would have noticed, not that anyone was paying attention, but it was a risky move. Stephen put his hand on Anthony's knee, moving in small circular motions. "I'm a cartoonist. I work for a local paper. We've been having quite a commotion at the office as of late. Mr. Stark wants to build a new skyscraper, but he wants to build it here and not in New York."

Anthony couldn't help but smile. He laughed a little louder than he had intended, but still, no one turned to look at them, pressed closely together. "Oh, I know all about that. You see, I'm his son. I designed that building and I was here hoping to find a backer to finance it, as our company's not doing as well as it should." Stephen pressed his lips together but his eyes crinkled mischievously, "Oh, in that case, you shouldn't look at my work." Anthony couldn't help but smile as he raised his brow, "Oh, is that so?"

"I don't think they should be building anything that tall."

"Yes, but how else are we ever going to reach the stars?"

"Do you talk to every stranger you meet like this?" Anthony move closer to Stephen, who continued making small circles above his knee.

"Only the ones that look at me the way you do."

"And how am I looking at you," asked Stephen, coyly.

"Like you've already been to heaven and I'm the angel that's waiting for you." Moments later, the two got up to leave. Only the redhead noticed that their fingers interlocked as they swiftly walked out the front door, but she smiled to herself and said nothing more.  

*~*~*~*~*~

“How did you know it was me?” He asked. His palms traced the smooth expanse of his torso. He followed the pale hairs on his chest as they darkened below his waist. He paused when he reached his navel and traced a different line back up to his cheeks, which he cupped as he leaned in to kiss him.

The moonlight shown in through the open window; a draft blew in but both were covered in sweat, so neither dared close it. The chill that swept across them was a welcomed one.

“I didn’t. Not at first, at least. But I’d know those eyes anywhere.” He smiled softly as he said it, returning the passionate kiss he had just received. “I love this. I love these moments.” The dark-haired man smiled: warm, invigorating. “Do you really?”

“Yes, I love seeing your look of surprise when you finally learn and the relief that washes over your face when you remember.”

“When I remember what exactly?”

“That there’s not a single person in this universe who knows you the way I do.”

Tony couldn’t disguise the blush that crept up his cheeks. “You always did know exactly how to get to me.” Steve smiled, satisfied. “Only because you allow it.” Their lips touched again only moments before Tony fell asleep.

Steve awoke to the first signs of light flickering through. He rose, shutting the window as he walked to his desk. He pulled out his notebook and began working on what would be his next painting, watching his lover as he slept gracefully, not a care in the world.

It didn’t matter to him what would happen if anyone learned the truth. It didn’t matter. None could hurt him. _But they could hurt Tony_ , he thought. Tony who’s blood he had seen shed, in the lifetimes they’d lived. Tony, who, despite knowing he was mortal, would sacrifice himself again and again.

 _He’d sacrificed so much already_ , thought Steve, introspectively. Perhaps this was a mistake. Perhaps this wasn’t the right time. He thought of his lips on his shoulders, the way he arched his back when he was near, and the way his eyes seemed to change colors when Steve told him the truth; the way a pool changes color once it’s full.

He loved him deeply. This he knew even before the first time his heart was torn asunder at his loss. Before he had learned the truth: that he would outlive him every single time. He wiped the silent tears but one fell on the page, nonetheless. It was hard to think of this even now.

Tony was never awake or around to see the frown lines, was never privy to these thoughts. Steve had grown accustomed to the years of loneliness that dragged between meetings. He knew, deep down, that it was momentary, but cold winter’s nights made it exceedingly hard to be optimistic. _Who knows how long I’ll have him this time?_

He heard Tony rouse and quickly put his things away. Tony hated waking up alone in bed. He slid in next to him, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Good morning, beloved.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: I'll add chapter 3 on Natasha & Pepper in the gallery soon.

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on [Tumblr](http://lavengadoraaa.tumblr.com).


End file.
